


Coffee Interruptus

by flammable_grimm_pitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Animal Attack, Care of Magical Creatures, Description of wounds, Healer Sirius Black, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Blood, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), Strangers to Lovers, Werewolf Remus Lupin, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28737021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/pseuds/flammable_grimm_pitch
Summary: Sirius Black is not well-liked at St. Mungo's; he's standoffish and often rude, though excellent at his job as a healer. When his morning routine is interrupted and he is gifted the perfect cup of coffee by an adorable (and anonymous) werewolf, Sirius becomes determined to make the man's acquaintance.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, background James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pixelated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelated/gifts).



> Prompted by an anonymous Tumblr ask of remus-john-lupin's (pixelated on AO3) about Healer!Sirius.
> 
> A warning that this work will involve descriptions of medical procedures at times -- I'll try to keep it non-graphic as much as possible! 
> 
> The author of this fic does not condone the views of J.K. Rowling, and if she met JKR in public, would give her the two-finger salute and say "trans women are women."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Non-graphic mention of blood, injury to a person's leg
> 
> Check out the podfic for Chapter 1 [here](https://soundcloud.com/user-46033580/coffee-interruptus-ch-1)!

Sirius Black was third from the front of the canteen queue — in which he’d been waiting for no less than 15 minutes to order a simple pour-over coffee and a chai scone, the only luxuries he ever allowed himself at work — when his name rang out over the PA. He was so close to the counter, in fact, that the young cashier caught the exact moment the light died in the Healer’s red-rimmed eyes at the realization that he would be deprived of the beverage he so desperately craved after almost 30 hours on his feet.

_“Healer Black to the Ward for Serious Bites, stat; Healer Black to the Ward for Serious Bites, stat,”_ the switchboard operator announced evenly, repeating the phrase twice as per hospital protocol so that distracted (and often exhausted) hospital staff would have a second opportunity to hear who exactly was being paged. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Sirius sighed under his breath as he stepped out of the queue. A ‘stat’ call to his ward usually meant that life or limb was at stake, which unfortunately outranked his need for a caffeine fix. Healer Evans, who was two places behind him in the queue, gave him a sympathetic smile as he passed. 

“Better luck next time, Black,” she called after him. “I’ll try to save you a scone!” 

“I hate you,” he shouted back, contemplating what he might do if he arrived on the ward to find that the issue wasn’t as urgent as the page had led him to believe. He wasn’t above death threats or a mild maiming, not when it came to coffee. 

On his way out, he noticed the amused expression of a threadbare young man seated at a nearby table. Was he _laughing_ at Sirius’ pain? He couldn’t recall the man’s name off the top of his head, but his face was familiar — marred by a number of silver slashes instantly recognizable to the Healer as the work of a werewolf. Sirius couldn’t be arsed to remember how he knew him just now — he was too busy mourning the coffee break that had been so rudely ripped out from under him. He did, however, curl his lip and give the man the snarkiest sneer he could muster that early in the day. Instead of looking cowed, the man had the gall to smile even wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter. 

“Arsehole,” Sirius muttered, storming past the man. 

Once he’d shoved his way through the heavy metal door into the stairwell and stomped down four flights of stairs, Sirius arrived on the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites, where a group of witches and wizards were crowding around the bedside of a new admission, whose screaming had been audible from two floors up. In Sirius’ experience, as long as a patient could still yell, they were probably not dying; it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. 

“Status report?” Sirius requested of a nearby Mediwitch as he set to washing his hands. 

“Marlon Babbitt, 26-year-old male; presenting with a Grindylow bite—” 

“They called me down for a _Grindylow bite?_ ” Sirius interrupted, glaring daggers at the green-robed witch as he dried his hands on a paper towel. “Unless it’s bitten off his penis — and maybe not even then — I’m going back upstairs to get my coffee.” 

“—to the left calf,” the woman continued on, ignoring Sirius’ rude outburst. “Vital signs stable, but the patient reports ten out of ten pain. Estimated blood loss of less than 500mL.” She glanced up at him with a strange smile. “Oh, and it’s still attached.” 

“What, his penis?” Sirius questioned with a snort. “I’d imagine so, if it’s only bit his calf.” 

“The _Grindylow_ is still attached,” she repeated, tilting her head towards the bed. “Dr. Smethwyck wanted you to see about removing it quickly to reduce the risk of infection.” Fair enough; the mouths of water demons were notoriously riddled with bacteria that could easily lead to sepsis if not treated properly. 

“Fine,” Sirius huffed, snatching the chart from the witch’s hands so he could have a look for himself. As he approached the bedside, the crowd of staff and concerned family members made way for him. 

“Shall I administer a Calming Draught, Healer Black?” A nurse asked, wincing as the patient continued to shriek and dramatically flail his uninjured limbs. 

“Best make it a Sleeping Draught,” Sirius recommended. “We’ll need him to quit moving about if he wants us to detach his little friend. Some Murtlap essence and dittany as well, if you would.” The nurse rushed off to the ward’s potion room to fetch the appropriate remedies, leaving Sirius to investigate the situation further. 

The Grindylow was small (likely an adolescent, Sirius thought based on its size) and its razor-sharp teeth were firmly embedded into the meaty tissue of the man’s calf. Babbitt was dressed in a wetsuit, having been in the middle of a diving expedition in some lake up in Yorkshire, according to his brother, when he was accosted by the slimy green creature. The wetsuit’s black fabric was doing an excellent job of concealing the wound, as well as any blood leaking from the punctured skin. It would have to be removed — a pity, Sirius thought, because it looked to be quite expensive. 

Pulling his wand from the pocket of his robes, Sirius carefully cut away the offending garment with a severing charm so he could take a closer look. The water demon’s beady, black eyes followed Sirius curiously, signalling to him that it was indeed still alive. While he inspected the damaged tissue using a series of diagnostic spells, the nurse managed to persuade Babbitt to drink most of a vial of Sleeping Draught, which brought an immediate stop to his incessant shrieking. 

“Could someone please fetch a basin of water, as large as you can find?” Sirius requested of the gathered group of staff. He cast a weak _Aguamenti_ over the Grindylow’s gills to moisten them, as the slits on its neck that allowed it to breathe were looking particularly dry. “I’ll also need someone to send an urgent owl to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures so we can get this little fella back to where it belongs.” 

“Why don’t you just kill it?” Inquired the patient’s brother, who stood at the bedside wrapped in a large hospital-issued towel. Judging by his wetsuit and the plastic flippers on his feet, he must have been diving alongside his brother at the time of the attack. 

“Because it hasn’t actually done anything wrong,” Sirius told him. “If someone waltzed into my home unannounced and uninvited, I might be inclined to bite, too.” 

“I never thought of it that way,” the young man replied, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. “Suppose you’re right; Marlon _was_ poking around in the weeds when it got him.” 

A minute later, a nurse’s aide bustled back onto the ward, levitating a large plastic bin full of water ahead of him. Sirius directed him to set the bin down on the floor to the left of the bed. Once that was done, two men worked to shift the patient’s leg over top of the bin so that the creature, once detached, could drop right down into the water. 

“There we go,” Sirius cooed, coaxing the Grindylow to release its hold on Babbitt’s calf by gently stroking its head with two fingers. Before doing so, he’d had the good sense to put on a dragonhide glove — a piece of protective gear used regularly on the Serious Bites ward. If the creature were more insistent on clinging to its victim, a Revulsion Jinx would be effective, but Sirius preferred to use as little force as necessary when dealing with magical creatures. 

The Grindylow made a strange clicking noise almost like a purr before widening its jaws and removing its teeth from where they had been deeply embedded in Babbitt’s leg. As Sirius lowered it into the water-filled bin, it shook out its dried tentacles and let out a stream of bubbles in a show of pleasure. It darted back and forth in the water, investigating its temporary holding tank. 

“Perfect,” Sirius enthused, levitating the bin to a quiet section of the ward to prevent any unlucky passersby from the risk of becoming its next victim. With the Grindylow detached, he was able to make quick work of cleansing and healing the wound using Murtlap essence and a few drops of dittany, which would reduce scarring to the area. Curls of white smoke rose from the wound as the skin magically knitted itself back together. 

Once Sirius’ work was done, he grabbed a Self-Inking quill from the nurse’s station and documented the procedure in the patient’s chart, as well as writing orders for potions to help with any lingering pain, and to reverse the effects of the Sleeping Draught once Babbitt had recovered from his adventure-filled day. Sirius was careful to make his entry legible, as he’d been castigated earlier in the week by a nurse about his tendency to hastily scribble out orders instead of writing them neatly. 

“Healer Black,” the ward’s head nurse called after him as he attempted to sneak off the ward a few minutes later, “There’s a coffee here for you.” Sirius’ face lit up, because there was indeed a large paper cup filled with coffee waiting for him. 

“Lily Evans is an angel, and you can tell her I said it,” Sirius announced to the nurse as he removed the lid and heated the liquid inside with a warming charm. 

“Oh, it wasn’t Healer Evans that dropped it off,” the nurse corrected him, grinning. 

“Then who was it?” Sirius inquired curiously. He wasn’t particularly well-liked at St. Mungo’s for a number of reasons, and Evans’ fondness for him was due entirely to the fact that she was engaged to his best mate. 

“A young man around your age,” she answered, waggling her eyebrows. “He didn’t give his name, but he had curly brown hair, and was wearing Muggle clothes. A beige jumper, if I remember correctly.” 

Sirius frowned as he considered the description of his mystery coffee deliverer. The only person who came to mind was the adorable arsehole who had smirked at him in the cafeteria earlier. 

“Did he have any scars?” Sirius wondered, raking a hand over his face to demonstrate the faded silver scratches that had decorated the man’s face. 

“Now that you mention it, yes, he did,” the nurse nodded. “Cute, though.” 

“Indeed,” Sirius nodded, pausing to take a sip of his reheated drink, which turned out to be bloody _perfect_. No sugar or milk, just as he liked it — as Black as his name, he sometimes joked with the barista. “I suppose I’ll have to thank him next time I see him around.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius searches for his mystery coffee deliverer.

For a full week after the anonymous coffee delivery, Sirius took every available opportunity to run upstairs to the St. Mungo’s canteen, just in case his knight in ~~shining armour~~ beige jumper happened to be there. He imagined that perhaps he might find the tawny-haired man at that same table as before — drinking tea as he completed a crossword, waiting surreptitiously for Sirius to walk up and initiate a conversation. Sirius asked everyone he could think of whether or not they knew a man with whiskey-gold eyes and scars across his face — other healers, mediwizards waiting in corridors to reclaim their stretchers, the canteen baristas — but not one person could provide him with a name. Some even wondered if Healer Black was perhaps a touch mad, like his mother had been.

No matter what time of day he went up to the canteen under the guise of buying a bran muffin or refilling his coffee mug (for the fifteenth time that day), Sirius had no luck. His mystery man was nowhere to be found. 

* * * * * 

The latest calamity to strike the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites was a doxy infestation, likely started by a patient that had unknowingly brought eggs into the facility amongst their belongings — not unlike Muggles with their bedbugs. Within a matter of days there were hundreds of the flying pests nestled into every nook and cranny of the ward. A clutch of eggs was even discovered in the ruching of the head nurse’s white cap. It was an absolute disaster, and required that all patients be temporarily transferred to other wards while a crew from the ministry fumigated the WSB with doxycide. 

As all of Sirius’ patients were in more-or-less stable condition, the Healer-in-Charge of the WSB, Hippocrates Smethwyck, had instructed him to nip down to the patient records office and collect contact information for anyone who had been discharged from his care in the last fortnight. Then, Sirius was to send each person an owl, requesting that they check their homes for signs of doxy infestation. 

“Hospital administration is already up my arse about this mess.” Smethwyck had told him. “If the _Daily Prophet_ catches wind of an outbreak here at St. Mungo’s, they’ll have a field day with it! We need to get this dealt with as soon as possible, Black.” 

Sirius was quite sure that this wasn’t within his pay-grade, but because he wanted to continue being assigned to work on Smethwyck’s ward, he agreed to take on the task. 

_I’m so glad I apprenticed as a healer for four years just so that I could do my boss’s bloody paperwork,_ Sirius thought murderously as he descended into the hospital’s basement, the soles of his boots slapping hard against the stairs. _Though I suppose it’s better this than dealing with sniffly children up in Magical Bugs._

Still grumbling under his breath, Sirius stomped into the patient records office, halting before a long counter that separated the office’s waiting area from the records themselves. Behind the counter, the place resembled a Muggle warehouse, with floor to ceiling shelves packed with thick file folders as far as the eye could see. There was no way for unauthorized personnel to get at the files other than by jumping over the counter, and though Sirius’ work robes allowed him a good range of movement, he wasn’t about to attempt a search of the files on his own. With no clerk in site, Sirius rang the bell on the counter. Instead of the small _ding_ he expected, the bell was so loud that he thought it might be heard five floors up in the canteen. 

“Just a moment,” called a voice in a gentle tenor from somewhere out in the stacks. “Be right with you.” 

Just then, an enchanted paper airplane wizzed in through the open office door, narrowly missing Sirius’ head. It unfolded itself and fell into a basket on the counter labelled ‘Record Requests’. After the near miss, Sirius decided it might be best to take a seat and look over his list of patients while he waited. With new admissions and discharges happening every day, it was difficult for him to remember who had been on the ward and when. 

At the top of his list was the elderly Mrs. Newton, who had been attacked in her sleep by her pet Matagot — a feline-like creature imported from France — after forgetting to feed it for a few days. Then there was the fellow from up north with a series of nasty burns and bites after leaving his Floo unattended, resulting in a house-fire that had spawned a number of Ashwinders. And with the ward’s pest infestation had come a number of patients with tiny bites that required the administration of doxy antivenin. There was never a shortage of strange magical maladies at St. Mungo’s, that was for sure. 

When the clerk’s footsteps were close enough to hear, Sirius noticed an odd cadence to them, as if the person were slowly limping along. An image popped into his mind of an elderly man shuffling along between the shelves, his eyes magnified by a pair of enormous glasses like those worn by the divination teacher at Hogwarts. 

“Sorry for the wait,” the clerk greeted breathlessly as he stepped out from behind a nearby shelf, leaning heavily on the wooden cane in his right hand. “Ah, Healer Black. How can I help you?” 

“Yes, hi,” Sirius greeted distractedly as he stood up. He stared at his list with furrowed brows, attempting to read what looked more like two long, dark ink smudges than an actual name. “I need contact information for these 12 patients — all have been discharged within the last fortnight, if that helps.” He slapped the paper down on the counter and pushed it toward the clerk before finally glancing up at the man. 

“Not particularly, but I’ll see what I can do,” the clerk answered, freeing his hands from the sleeves of his oversized navy jumper. He was practically drowning in it, the poor fellow. “Let’s see here…” 

“It’s you!” Sirius exclaimed suddenly. His eyes raked over the man’s pale face, which was disfigured by a number of silver scars, though not enough that Sirius didn’t find him lovely to look at. One slash-mark cut across his cheek, over the high bridge of his nose, and through one dark eyebrow, narrowly missing the eye itself; another across his mouth, creating a slight pucker in his upper lip; and a set of three parallel lines ran down the side of his jaw as though a wolf had caressed his face with its claws. 

“Um…” The young clerk looked up from the list he was perusing, confused by the sudden outburst. He chuckled nervously at Sirius’ wide-eyed expression, cowering a bit beneath his gaze. “I’m sorry, have we met?” 

“You just said my name,” Sirius reminded him. “And you bought me coffee last week. At least, I think it was you. It was, wasn’t it?” A slow smile crept over him, one that the clerk wasn’t able to ignore. 

“You…weren’t meant to know that,” the man said softly, pressing his lips together for a moment and hoping the blush rising in his cheeks wasn’t as obvious as he felt it must be. “That it was me, I mean.” 

“Why not?” Sirius asked with a frown. “I’ve been checking the canteen ten times a day, hoping I’d see you again so I could thank you.” 

“S’not necessary,” the clerk said brusquely, turning his back to Sirius. “Let me just find those files, and you can be on your way.” He drew his wand from his pocket and murmured the words of a summoning charm, swishing his wand in the direction of the shelves as he read from the list of names. The elbows of his cardigan were patched with brown suede, and Sirius noticed that the man’s trousers were a bit too short, allowing a good amount of argyle-patterned sock to show between the hem of the trousers and the top of his worn leather brogues. 

“Of course it’s _necessary,_ ” Sirius insisted, setting his palms against the countertop and leaning forward. “You did something kind for me when I was having a terrible day. Wouldn’t you want to express your gratitude if someone did the same for you?” 

“I suppose I might,” the man responded with a tired sigh. He turned back around and met Sirius’ eyes. “I just…didn’t mean for it to become some big thing. You were obviously very busy that day. I felt bad for laughing at you, so I brought you a coffee. Can we just leave it at that?” 

“Sure we can. _If_ you tell me your name,” Sirius requested, “And if you’ll let me take you to lunch to repay you for your kindness.” 

“That’s—well, I’d hardly call that—” the clerk began to splutter, but when he caught sight of the smug grin on Sirius’ face, he knew his argument was a lost cause. “Fine. You can buy me a tea next week or something. Now, if you would,” he pointed at the neat stack of charts that had arranged themselves in a pile on the counter between them, “take your files and leave before someone thinks you’ve gotten lost in the stacks and comes searching for you.” 

“And your name?” Sirius prompted. He wasn’t about to leave without being able to put a name to the man’s lovely, lovely face. A kiss might be a bit much to ask for just now, but he figured a name was easy enough. 

“Remus,” the clerk answered curtly. 

“Remus what?” 

“Healer Black, I have a lot of work to do today, and I’m sure you have better places to be,” Remus sighed, hoping his feigned displeasure would discourage Sirius from sticking around any longer and asking any more question. 

“Well, thank you for the records, Remus with no surname,” Sirius said cheerily, sending a cheeky wink in the clerk’s direction. “I’ll come by again soon, and we’ll see about that lunch.” He placed a shrinking charm on the stack of files, secured them with a hair tie before tucking them away in the pocket of his robes for safekeeping, and then stepped back out into the corridor, closing the door of the records office behind him. 

Remus collapsed into his desk chair, filled with regret for his own idiotic decision-making. He’d been so certain that a man with a reputation like Sirius Black’s would accept an anonymous coffee with a smile and go on with his life. Instead, Remus’ little crush was going to end up being public knowledge, all thanks to his brain’s inability to make good decisions the day before a full moon. 

“Brilliant, Lupin,” he muttered to himself. “Just brilliant.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healer Evans offers Sirius some words of wisdom.

By the end of the following week, Sirius had been down to the patient records office no fewer than eleven times to pester Remus about the possibility of getting lunch together, only to be swiftly (though politely) rejected each and every time — a fact that had not gone unnoticed to members of the St. Mungo’s staff.

It also didn’t help that the man’s attempts usually involved something expensive and ridiculous like a bouquet of rare magical flowers, or promises of reservations at a posh restaurant in London. Gossip travelled fast, especially when the love life of one of the hospital’s most notorious healers was the subject in question. Lily Evans wasn’t the last to know, but she made a conscious effort to leave Sirius to his own devices until she had no other choice but to intervene. 

“Your office must be overflowing with files by now,” she said to Sirius one afternoon during their shared break in the Healer’s lounge. Lily was sprawled out across the sofa, reading over her notes about a particularly challenging case up on the lycanthropy ward. 

“And why is that?” Sirius asked through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “M’not that bad at keeping things tidy, you know. James and I do have _some_ differences.” 

“The custodian’s office has a running tally of how many times you’ve been down to patient records,” she informed him. “They’re just across the hall, you know. Apparently they’ve caught on to your attempts to seduce the clerk.” 

“I’m not trying to _seduce_ anyone,” Sirius snorted indignantly, managing to spit a bit of lettuce onto the leg of Lily’s scrub trousers. She winced, but didn’t bother brushing it away; she’d had worse things on her clothes before. “I have entirely legitimate reasons for going down there.” 

“Reasons that have nothing to do with how cute Remus is?” Lily asked, cocking an eyebrow knowingly. 

“Do you know him?” Sirius wondered, pausing his assault on his lunch so that she might have his full attention. 

“Of course I do,” she answered. “He’s one of my—er, friends.” Lily stopped herself abruptly mid-sentence, confirming Sirius’ sneaking suspicion that Remus had been a patient on her ward at some point. The clerk hadn’t confirmed his diagnosis himself, but due to his highly visible scars and the cane he relied on to walk despite his relatively young age, Sirius was quite certain that Remus was a werewolf. 

“It’s alright, I know you can’t talk about it,” he reassured her, giving her leg a friendly pat. “I know the confidentiality protocols just as well as you do.” Lily made no comment to this, because to do so would only confirm that personal health information legislation did indeed apply to the situation. 

“Anyway,” she said, veering clear of the subject entirely. “You fancy him.” 

“I am simply doing what any normal person would do if another person did them a kindness,” Sirius insisted primly. “Remus bought me a coffee two weeks ago, so I’ve been trying to catch him at a convenient time for him to join me for lunch as a way to say thanks — which has been very difficult, as he’s a busy man. That’s all.” 

“I’m sure,” Lily deadpanned, completely unconvinced. “I’m just a bit curious about your methods of enticing him to have lunch with you. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you’re going a bit overboard.” 

“I’m not playing games with him, Lily,” Sirius chastised her. “Come on, do you really think that poorly of me?” 

“No, because I know you better than that,” Lily said gently. “But it _is_ what everyone else assumes, because you’re a right prick to a lot of people here. You’ve tried to ask Remus to lunch a dozen times now but he hasn’t said yes, and I think it might have something to do with your reputation around here.” 

“I don’t give a rat’s arse what other people here think of me,” Sirius growled, crumpling the cellophane wrapper from his sandwich in his fist and tossing it into a nearby bin. “You and James are the only people whose opinions matter, and everyone else can sod off.” 

“Maybe you should care a bit more,” Lily said with a sigh. “Sirius, you’re an incredible Healer. You’re truly gifted with potions and healing magic, and I don’t have to tell you that because I know you know it. But some people…” 

“Like Remus?” Sirius filled in, sensing where she was going with this. 

“Yes, like Remus,” she agreed, “Some people don’t _know_ that you’re a loyal friend, or that you rescued a one-eyed Kneazle and are stupidly in love with the thing. You’re paying an awful lot of attention to Remus, but I don’t know if you’re going about it in a way that shows him that you aren’t the complete knobhead everyone believes you to be. Do you hear what I’m saying?” 

“I think so,” Sirius said slowly. “If I want him to go out with me, I need to stop with the expensive gifts and the ‘distracting him during work hours’ thing. Is that right?” 

“Exactly. You just have to let him get to know you a bit first,” Lily suggested. “Show him that you aren’t messing around, that you actually care about him as a person.” 

“How am I supposed to do that?” Sirius whined. “Lils, I’m terrible at this sort of thing. That’s why I default to the flowers and shit — it’s what James did to win your heart, isn’t it?” 

“Sirius Black, do _not_ start taking romance tips from James Potter,” Lily sighed, exasperated. “Are you forgetting that James didn’t get a date with me for six years, until he stopped being such an overbearing idiot about things?” 

“Oh. Right,” Sirius mumbled. “Fuck. What am I meant to do, then, if none of the normal stuff works?” 

“Let’s start with this,” Lily instructed, grabbing a pad of paper and a biro from her handbag. “First, stop going down to patient records to see Remus so often. You’ve probably convinced him you’re a stalker, and there’s nothing romantic about following people around their workplace. Next, on the rare occasion you do visit him, ask him something about himself. Find out what he likes — NOT by going through his trash or his coat pockets, Sirius, I can hear you thinking it — and talk with him about those things. And when he tells you something about himself, if it feels right, share something about you — something real, not just what you think he’ll want to hear.” 

When she finished speaking, her little notepad had three bullet points written down: 

\- Don’t be creepy  
\- Ask him appropriate personal questions  
\- Be yourself! 

“That’s it?” Sirius asked, glancing up at her in a slight panic. “This is how I’m meant to get him to like me? _Be myself?_ ” 

“Well, it’s certainly a start!” Lily said, cheerfully optimistic about the matter of Sirius’ love life. 

_Brilliant,_ Sirius thought to himself, _I’m doomed._

* * * * * 

Remus was seated behind the counter, rifling through a stack of papers when Sirius poked his head in the door. The clerk raised his eyebrows and glanced down at his watch to check the date. 

“Healer Black, what a surprise,” he mused, shifting his gaze to meet Sirius’ silver eyes, “I haven’t seen you in nearly a week. Thought you’d maybe died in a freak creature accident up on the ward.” 

“It’s actually quite rare that any biting magical creatures accompany a patient to the ward,” Sirius told him with a timid smile. “Much more common that a patient ends up trying to bite me, really.” 

Smartly, Remus refrained from making any comments about how he thought Black might taste — to a creature, of course. 

“And what can I do for you today?” He inquired instead, settling his clasped hands on the counter. 

“I, er, came to apologize,” Sirius admitted, worrying his lower lip. “I spoke with a friend, and she helped me realize that I’ve been a bit of an impatient git to you by constantly interrupting your work with silly requests and plying you with gifts that aren’t the sort of thing you’d enjoy.” 

“That’s…very mature of you,” Remus said diplomatically. “Thank you for the apology. You’re forgiven.” 

“In all honesty,” Sirius continued, “I’d still like to take you for lunch, but I thought that first, maybe we could just…get to know each other a bit better. That way you can decide for yourself whether or not I’m someone you would enjoy spending time with.” 

“Okay,” Remus nodded sagely, “That sounds fair.” 

“So, um, what do you do for fun?” Sirius asked, glancing nervously between Remus and the countertop. He’d never really made an effort to get to know any of his colleagues before now. But if Lily insisted this was the way to get Remus’ attention in a positive way, he supposed he didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

“I like to read,” Remus shrugged. “I’m a bit of a homebody, so I tend to stay in and find something to do around my flat — watch telly, do the crossword, that sort of thing.” 

“You have a tellyvision?” Sirius asked, instantly curious. “Healer Evans has told me about them, but I’ve never actually seen one before. She’s Muggleborn, you know.” 

“Yes, she and I met a few years back,” Remus said with a smile. “My mum was a Muggle, so we had a few non-magical things in our house when I was growing up. I inherited the television after she and dad passed a few years back.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sirius said, sensing Remus’ fondness for them in the tone of his voice. “My parents are dead as well, though we were never very close.” 

“What about you then?” Remus inquired, changing the subject at Sirius’ obvious discomfort on the subject of parents. “What do you like to do when you aren’t here or on call?” 

Sirius paused for a moment to think about it. No one had ever really asked him about his interests before. His opinion was sought on magical maladies, and that was about it. “Er, I suppose I like to spend time with friends and play Quidditch. And I like to read as well, but mostly journals on advances in healing magic, not so much novels.” 

“And your favourite Quidditch team?” 

“Puddlemere, of course,” Sirius said, as if it were the only viable option. “My adoptive parents supported Puddlemere, and now I do, too. Did you ever play Quidditch at school? I don’t remember you from Hogwarts, so you must have been in another house and year.” 

“No, I never went to school.” Remus’ voice was soft, sad. “My parents believed me much too frail to play out of doors with any of the children in our village, let alone a sport as brutal as Quidditch. And I’m afraid I don’t have many friends.” 

“You can be mine,” Sirius blurted out. “My friend, that is. I don’t have many either, just James and Lily, really. You already know Lils, and James would like you, too, I’m sure of it.” Remus smiled wanly, and Sirius got the feeling that he was beginning to overstay his welcome in the records office. “But er, anyhow, I just came to apologize, and now that I’ve done it, I have to head back up to the ward. Some poor sod managed to impale his foot on an old basilisk fang — not venomous any more, thankfully, but still needs to be removed, and the wound treated to prevent any lasting damage.” 

“Yes, of course,” Remus conceded with a slight grimace. “See you around, then.” 

“You will,” Sirius assured him. 

* * * * * 

A few days later, a note fluttered into the records office in the rather unorthodox shape of an origami butterfly. As soon as it had landed on his outstretched finger, Remus recognized the thin, silky bit of parchment as a folded piece of newspaper. He unfolded it to find that it was yesterday’s crossword from the Daily Prophet, which the sender had completed a majority of in green ink before cutting it from the paper. A small sticky note was attached to the clipping: 

_Any idea what number nine down could be? Asking for a friend._  


_Sirius_

With a smile, Remus carefully pulled the sticky note away from the page, as it was covering the clues section of the puzzle. He scanned the list and found number nine, which read, _“1959 novel by Muggle author Borroughs: Naked _______”_. 

His smile quickly turned into a frown, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he had done this crossword just yesterday, and he didn’t recall this clue at all. Was he going batty in his old age?! (Age was a relative thing for werewolves — he was not yet 30, but his body felt twice that.) 

After digging in his deep coat pockets for yesterday’s paper, Remus pulled it out and flipped to what his mother had always referred to as the ‘funnies’ section, where the crossword was usually posted alongside the illustrated comics. Sure enough, when he compared the two puzzles, the clue was entirely different, though the rest of the puzzle remained the same. 

_What in Merlin’s name?_ Remus wondered, glancing up to see what he’d penned in. The clue for number nine on his copy was “start something,” to which he’d answered ‘LAUNCH’. And on the copy Sirius had obviously doctored with magic, the answer to the clue would be… 

“You are such a brat,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes. Grabbing a quill from his desk, he completed Sirius’ crossword with the word ‘LUNCH’ and scribbled a note out on a spare bit of parchment, which he folded together back into the paper airplane format preferred for interdepartmental mail. “Off you go then,” Remus told the plane, sending it away with a wave of his wand. “Patience, my arse.” 

~ ~ ~ 

_Meet me in the canteen on Friday at noon, you ridiculous man._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius' lunch date with Remus turns out to be an unmitigated disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** Description of wounds -- stop reading at the asterisk (*) and pick up again where the next asterisk starts if you would rather not read that bit!

Sirius’ lunch date with Remus went swimmingly, he thought. They secured a quiet table in the back corner of the canteen, enjoyed the daily special (spaghetti bolognese with salad and garlic toast), and engaged in a spirited discussion about the magical creatures that most interested them. Sirius chose the chimaera for its magical abilities, while Remus was rather partial to centaurs, whose intellectual and emotional intelligence intrigued him. There was laughter and what felt like a genuine connection, and Sirius found himself having heaps of fun with the man opposite him — which is why he was so confused when Remus flat-out denied his request to spend the following Monday’s lunch hour together.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius said, furrowing his brows. “I thought…well, aren’t you having a good time?” 

“Yes, I am,” Remus sighed wearily. “That’s the problem.” With his elbows resting on the table, he set his hands over his face and groaned. “This was a bad idea, Sirius, and I should have said so right away instead of stringing you along. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” 

“You haven’t,” Sirius insisted, reaching across the table and setting a hand on the man’s arm. “Remus, I know you were hesitant about spending time with me, but haven’t you enjoyed it? You’ve been smiling, laughing even! Isn’t that worth something to you?” He was at the point of begging now, he was so desperate for Remus to see how much he enjoyed his company. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus repeated, slipping his arms back into the sleeves of the cardigan he had draped over the back of the chair. “I just…can’t do this.” He stacked his dirty dishes, reached for his cane, and hauled himself to his feet. 

“Is this about the lycanthropy?” Sirius demanded suddenly. He had told himself he would avoid the subject at all costs, but now Remus was walking away from what Sirius was certain could be a great thing —and if not a romantic relationship, then at least a solid platonic friendship. Remus’ amber eyes flickered up to meet Sirius’, and a cold, quiet rage came over him. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“I’m a healer,” Sirius retorted stormily. “I’m not blind, Remus, I’ve seen the signs. Please, you can trust me.” 

“Trust is _earned,_ Healer Black,” Remus snapped, turning on his heel. He hobbled out of the canteen with startling speed for a man relying so heavily on a cane, abandoning his dishes on the table he and Sirius had been sharing. 

Sirius cursed angrily under his breath at his own lack of tact. He’d told himself a hundred times not to bring up the lycanthropy issue unless Remus himself mentioned it, yet the minute Sirius’ delicately growing friendship with Remus had been jeopardized, it had come flying out of his mouth without consideration for how it would make the man feel. And in a public place, no less! 

He really was doomed. 

To Sirius’ deep chagrin, the little scene between him and his lunch date had been noticed by a number of others in the canteen. A gaggle of nurses at a nearby table was staring at him and whispering amongst themselves, unaware (or perhaps uncaring) of the fact that their comments were audible from where he was standing. 

“Mind your own bloody business,” he hissed sharply as he bustled past them with a tray of dishes toward the canteen’s dish pit. The nurses had the good sense to look cowed at being reprimanded for their gossiping, but they started up again as soon as Sirius was out of earshot — after all, Healer Black being loudly rejected by another hospital staff member in a public place was news. 

Back on the ward, Sirius’ colleagues quickly caught on to his stormy mood and gave him a wide berth. The charge nurse eyed him with concern as she gave him an update on his patients’ conditions, but was smart enough not to ask any personal questions. Healer Black was known to be a private man; if he wanted to share, he would do so on his own terms. 

Sirius was on call over the weekend, so he threw himself into his work, attending to his patients even more closely than usual. He deal with the paperwork that had been piling up on his desk, updated the protocol binders on the ward, and even went so far as administering medications and completing routine wound care instead of leaving it to the nurses. The charge nurse was beside herself — this just wasn’t how things were done at St. Mungo’s! By the close of the Saturday evening shift, he had been threatened with a thorough hexing and was instructed to find an empty bed in the Healers’ lounge and get some sleep — he would be called if it was deemed ‘absolutely necessary’. 

* * * * * 

An urgent Patronus in the shape of a small pony arrived in the middle of the night, rousing Sirius suddenly from his sleep. The wispy creature informed him in the voice of the overnight nurse that a patient was being rushed to St. Mungo’s after a werewolf attack out in rural Leicestershire. The young woman was in critical condition, and couldn’t be transported by Apparition without a serious risk of splinching, so she would be coming via air ambulance. 

Sirius hurried to jam himself back into a clean set of healer’s robes, brush his teeth, and throw his hair into a topknot so that the mass of black, shoulder-length waves wouldn’t impair his vision. Instead of taking the stairs as he usually did, he apparated to St. Mungo’s rooftop landing pad, just in time to meet the team of Mediwitches that served as the hospital’s broom-based emergency stretcher service. The patient was ghastly pale, but had survived the journey with the help of a few well-placed warming charms and a blood replenishing potion administered mid-air. She was in a state of suspended animation, as transport would have been near-impossible had she been awake. 

With Remus on his mind, Sirius quickly took stock of the situation, accompanying the woman and her rescuers down to the ward. The mediwitch’s report indicated that the patient was in her late 20s — around Sirius’ own age — and had been attacked a few hours earlier when she went outside in search of her dog, who hadn’t come inside for the night. There had been reports of wild dog attacks in a nearby Muggle community, which had concerned her about the safety of her pet.* 

The wolf had raked its claws across her back, creating several long, jagged cuts that spanned from her right shoulder down to her left hip. She had also sustained a number of bruises, scrapes and minor scratches in the scuffle, but those were easy enough to heal. The most severe of her injuries was a vicious bite wound to her right thigh that would need thorough cleansing and an application of dittany and powdered silver as soon as possible if the limb was to be saved. 

Werewolf attacks were Sirius’ least favourite malady to attend to for a number of reasons. One, it was more often that the victims were Muggle than magical (just by virtue of population size), meaning that the death rate for these patients was very high; Muggles’ bodies were less likely to tolerate the transformation than the body of a witch or wizard. Two, the damage was always severe — bite wounds, lacerations made by razor-sharp claws, body cavities open to air and prone to infection. Sirius had dealt with a complete evisceration on more than one occasion, the very memories of which made his stomach churn. Third, and perhaps most distressing, was the fact that _if_ his patient survived the attack and began the healing process, they often resented him for not allowing them to die. 

Lycanthropy was a terrible disease, one that often lead to ostracization from one’s family and friends. Those affected struggled to maintain employment, as the painful monthly transformations frequently required them to take sick days on either side of the moon. The options for waiting out the moon were limited — being caged up in a cramped ministry cell, or being guarded by Aurors in a warded cellar at home — and the one potion that offered substantial relief for the afflicted often existed outside of their financial means. 

*The painful transformations associated with the disease wreaked havoc on the body — rending joints and breaking bones so that the creature within could have its run of things for one night every month. Severe chronic joint pain and permanent skeletal damage were major health concerns that people living with lycanthropy often experienced, impacting longevity and quality of life. In simpler terms, lycanthropes could expect to have continually declining health over a shortened lifespan. If allowed to choose, many people would prefer death over such a life. 

As far as werewolf attacks went, this was a fairly straightforward case. Sirius worked alongside the nurses to cleanse and dress the wounds using a mixture of spellwork and potions. Healing magic had limited effect on werewolf wounds, but a person infected with lycanthropy had a faster rate of healing than the average person. With such a serious bite, there was little doubt that the patient had been infected, but only time would tell. She would have to remain at St. Mungo’s until the next moon, during which she would be relegated to a private, warded room in which she could safely transform if she had indeed contracted the disease. 

Sirius worked into the early hours of the morning tending to his patient, one Maggie Dalhousie from a small town outside of Birmingham. Her only living relative — her mother — had been contacted, who upon arrival seated herself at her daughter’s bedside to wait out the night. She dabbed at the young woman’s forehead with a cool cloth when she became feverish, assisted the nurses to reposition her in bed to help take the pressure off the wounds on her back, and consulted with the medical team on her daughter’s treatment with a stoic expression despite the enormous emotional toll the ordeal must have been taking on her. 

Maggie would remain under the effects of the Draught of Living Death — sedated, essentially — for another day, until Sirius could be sure that her injuries were healed enough for the young woman to be awake. At that point, the hospital’s lycanthropy peer advocate would be called to speak with her about what the future might hold. The wizard previously in the position had recently retired, but according to the head nurse, the volunteer position had been filled, and as soon as the advocate had themselves recovered from Saturday night’s full moon, they would be in to see Ms. Dalhousie. 

So long as the young woman had the will to go on, Sirius guessed that she would pull through the night. Mental strength and stamina mattered almost as much as the extent of a person’s physical injuries, in his experience. 

His thoughts went immediately to Remus — how old had he been when he was bitten, and what had happened? Had he, like Ms. Dalhousie, simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was there something more sinister to his story. All he knew for certain was that Remus Lupin must have been determined to survive. He still was, despite the aches and pains ailing him on a daily basis, despite the dismal employment outlooks for a lycanthrope. 

Despite absolute prats like Sirius Black thinking they knew anything about him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new patient brings Sirius and Remus closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Not terribly graphic, but there are some descriptions of wounds. I've put bolded asterisks around any section that has these descriptions so that you can skip them if you like!

Sirius was only mildly surprised to find a peaky-looking Remus Lupin seated at Ms. Dalhousie’s bedside the morning after her admission to the Ward for Serious Bites. The young woman was sitting up in bed and munching on a square of dark chocolate, commiserating quietly with her visitor, who looked only marginally healthier than she did despite the fact that she had narrowly survived a werewolf attack just the last night. Sirius leaned against the nursing desk and stared openly at the pair, oblivious to how his attempts at eavesdropping from afar might be perceived.

“Were you planning to round on your patients today, Healer Black, or are you just going to stand there catching flies?” The imperious head nurse inquired, quirking an eyebrow at him from her chair. He promptly snapped his mouth shut, grabbed his clipboard from the desk, and made a bee-line for the far end of the ward — purposely avoiding Ms. Dalhousie and her guest for the time being. That only lasted so long, though, as none of the ward’s other patients had injuries as serious or extensive as hers.

The elderly gentleman with the festering kneazle bite to his ankle whose bed was in the centre of the ward had clearly invested in some top-of-the-line charm work to combat his hearing loss (and had a penchant for listening in on the gossiping nurses), because as soon as Sirius had pulled the privacy curtain around his bed so as to begin an examination of his wound, the fellow exclaimed sternly, “Now, don’t you waste your time on me, Healer Black. I know for a fact you’re just avoiding that young man of yours.”

“He’s not _my_ anything,” Sirius grumbled as he carefully peeled back the gauze dressing on the man’s lower leg. ***** The skin surrounding the puncture marks was angry red, and a small pocket of pus had formed beneath the skin’s surface. *****

“Well, you certainly look at the fellow as though you’d like him to be yours,” his patient said knowingly. “Healer Black, I’m no spring chicken, so trust me when I say that life is far too short to get caught up in petty arguments, especially with someone you care for.” ***** The man winced as Sirius applied a charm to evacuate the purulent, yellow liquid beneath his skin, but bore the pain bravely. *****

“Thank you for your words of wisdom, Mr. Bates,” Sirius said in earnest, setting a hand on his patient’s blanket-clad calf. “Though I’d be careful if I were you — the nurses don’t take kindly to being spied on. If they catch onto you, they might call the kitchen and ask them not to send down that extra serving of tapioca for you anymore.” The sly old man winked and gave him a toothless grin before shooing Sirius off.

Once he’d finished his other rounds and gathered the necessary courage to confront his newest admission while her guest was present, Sirius straightened his robes and schooled his expression into what he hoped was both highly dignified and professional.

“Ms. Dalhousie, I’m pleased to see you’re awake,” he greeted her, approaching the side of the bed opposite Remus. “I’m Healer Black, and I will be responsible for your care for the duration of your stay here at St. Mungo’s.” He allowed his gaze to shift towards Remus for only a fraction of a second before giving his patient his full attention.

“Good to meet you,” Maggie Dalhousie said in a soft, gravelly voice. She blinked up at him slowly, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“You and me both,” Sirius admitted, setting his mouth in a grim line. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like something tore me to shreds last night,” Maggie answered with a sigh. “The nurse comes by with a pain potion ever few hours and it’s helped with the worst of it, but everything still aches, and it hurts a lot when they move my pillows and shift me off my back.”

“I’ll write an order for something a bit stronger for the nurse to give you before they move you around in bed,” Sirius offered, scribbling a note on his clipboard, “And perhaps you might like something to help you sleep? I know it can be difficult to rest when you’re uncomfortable and in a strange place.”

“That would be grand,” Maggie said, nodding appreciatively.

“And is this a friend of yours?” Sirius inquired, glancing between her and Remus, who had been quietly fiddling with his coat buttons and pretending he didn’t exist. The clerk glanced up in surprise, because he had, of course, made Sirius’ acquaintance several months ago.

“This is Remus Lupin,” Maggie introduced. “He’s, um…” she paused for a moment as she regarded the man, an eyebrow cocked in a silent question.

“You can tell him,” Remus prompted her gently. “He isn’t allowed to tell anyone else.”

“Right. Um, Remus is the new lycanthropy advocate for St. Mungo’s,” Maggie explained, lowering her voice so that other patients might not overhear. “He’s been able to answer a lot of the questions I had about what life is going to be like from now on.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sirius said in earnest, trying to meet Remus’ eyes but failing miserably. The man’s gaze was trained on his lap once again. “Healers can only give our best guesses, but people like Remus are invaluable members of our healthcare team for the lived experience and guidance they can provide to patients such as yourself.”

“Remus has been so helpful,” Maggie asserted, giving her companion’s hand a squeeze where it rested, clasped with hers, atop the blankets. Sirius hadn’t noticed until now that they were holding hands; he’d been too busy trying to interpret the slightest of changes in the man’s stoic expression. “I’m still having a tough time wrapping my head around all this, but I’m glad to be able to talk with someone that knows what it’s like.”

“Mr. Lupin is very easy to talk to, isn’t he?” Sirius replied without thinking. The tawny-haired man’s head snapped up and his eyes bored into Sirius with an intensity he’d never seen from him before.

“Oh, he is,” Maggie agreed, shifting her concentration for a moment towards readjusting her position in her hospital bed. Sirius knew there was a thick bandage wrapped around her torso holding an absorbent dressing over the deep wounds to her back, which wasn’t particularly conducive to lying comfortably. “Though I think he’s probably had enough of me for one day,” the young woman continued once she had turned more onto her side. “Would you be terribly offended if I let you go for the afternoon, Remus?”

“Not at all,” Remus tutted, giving Maggie a soft smile as he released her hand. “After all, you’ll need your rest if you’re still determined to return to work next week.”

“I am,” she said, vehement in her decision. “I know it might just be to say goodbye, but I love my students so much, and I can’t bear the thought of just disappearing on them without at least going back to wrap things up and get them situated with a new teacher.”

“What do you teach?” Sirius asked.

“Primary school,” the witch answered with a shy smile. “I’m Muggleborn, so after Hogwarts, I went and got my teaching license and signed on with a small Muggle school in the village where I live. It’s hard work, but I love it.”

“Well, then, Mr. Lupin is absolutely right; you’ll certainly need to catch up on your rest if you’re planning to chase after brilliant little minds every day,” he encouraged. “Let’s have a quick peek at your bandages, and then I’ll leave you to it, all right?”

“Healer Black, if I could have a word when you’ve finished?” Remus asked with detached politeness as he stood up from his seat to give Ms. Dalhousie some privacy.

“Of course, I’ll only be a minute or two,” Sirius answered, waiting for the man to step past the curtains before he closed with a flick of his wrist and some wandless magic. The curtains were charmed to prevent sound from passing the curtains when closed, creating a bubble of privacy.

“You knew him already, didn’t you?” Maggie accused the moment they were alone. Sirius ignored her but for a soft _“Perhaps,”_ choosing instead to focus his attention on the bandage wrapped around her thigh, through which a shadow of blood was visible.

 ***** He used a transparency spell to have a look at the tissue underneath without having to remove the dressing, revealing an ovular set of teeth marks in the meat of her leg. The wounds themselves were no longer bleeding, and were instead covered with a paste made from dittany and powdered silver, the shimmer of which stood out against the stark purple-blue bruises blooming around the bite. Crusts of dried blood clung to the edges of the wounds, but would easily come away with a cleansing charm the next time someone changed the bandage. *****

“This is healing up nicely,” Sirius opined, glancing up to see that his patient was staring resolutely at the ceiling. “Not fond of blood, Ms. Dalhousie?”

“Not very,” the woman admitted, scrunching her nose up. “When I was at Hogwarts, I thought I might want to be a Healer, but one trip to the infirmary had me properly sorted. I’m much better suited to teaching.”

“It’s certainly not for everyone,” Sirius chuckled, casting _Finite_ to cancel the transparency charm so that Ms. Dalhousie might not pass out at the sight of the wound the next time she got up to use the toilet. “But teaching, that sounds like a right nightmare to me. How do you do it without constantly shouting at the children?”

“It _is_ difficult at times, I won’t pretend otherwise,” Maggie answered, leaning forward so that Sirius could check the wounds on her back. “But I love being able to help each child learn in the way that works best for them, and I love seeing their friendships with each other grow. They’re so thoughtful in the way they help one another — there’s never any selfish thought of ‘what’s in it for me?’ like there is so often with adult relationships.”

When he repeated the transparency charm on the bandages around her back, it came as no surprise to him that the claw wounds had mostly closed over with the application of dittany, unlike the bite wound he’d inspected previously. The wounds would scar permanently, but the ones that weren’t tainted with werewolf saliva would heal much more quickly.

“And here I thought school was all about learning arithmetic and printing your name a hundred times on a piece of paper until the letters are drilled into your head,” Sirius mused as he tied Ms. Dalhousie’s gown back up, earning a soft laugh from his patient.

“There is some of that as well,” she agreed, “but in the lower years, especially in Muggle schools, there’s much more of a focus on learning how to work together and get along with others.”

“Perhaps I had the wrong sort of schooling,” Sirius murmured thoughtfully. Before Hogwarts, his mother had enlisted a strict, ruthless governess that hadn’t allowed him or Regulus to have any fun — lessons were always a very serious matter in his parents’ eyes. If he’d had a teacher like Maggie Dalhousie, he wondered — one who might have encouraged him to work on his social skills and understood the challenges he was facing at home — might he have grown up to be the sort of adult that felt at ease around others, instead of one that intentionally kept his life private from all but those closest to him?

“What do you think Remus wants to talk to you about?” Maggie interrupted his mental ramblings, feigning ignorance to the tension she’d felt between the two men standing on either side of her bed.

“I’m sure he’s got some insights as to how we can improve your care,” Sirius told her, ignoring her eye-roll at his refusal to discuss his personal relationship with another staff member. “If you’ll excuse me, I suppose I should go and hear what he has to say.”

“Of course,” she said, waving a gracious hand towards the curtains. “Though if you could ask the nurse to bring me another pain potion when she has a moment, that would be brilliant.”

“Absolutely,” Sirius told her. “It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Dalhousie. I hope we can get you out of here and back to work in record time.”

“Thank you, Healer Black,” she said appreciatively. “That means more to me than you know.”

Sirius pulled the curtains back from around her bed and made his way to the sink to wash his hands, stopping by the nurse’s station on his way so as to pass along his patient’s request. From the corner of his eye, Sirius noted that Remus was leaning against the wall beside the door onto the ward, waiting for him.

“I trust Ms. Dalhousie’s examination went well?” Remus inquired cordially, wincing as he shifted his weight from the wall back onto his feet.

“It did. She’s healing up much faster than many cases I’ve seen,” Sirius responded, eyeing Remus with concern; the man didn’t look all that steady. “I think her determination to return to work is proving useful. You’d be surprised how important motivation and hope are in the healing process.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Remus nodded thoughtfully. “Mental and physical health are intimately connected, after all.”

He gestured towards a set of chairs along the far wall where they might sit down to have a chat, but he hadn’t even made it a single step before his hip collapsed beneath him. Sirius was quick to respond, catching him before he could hit the floor.

“Steady on,” Sirius huffed, carefully hauling Remus back to his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a chair into which he gently deposited his distressed colleague. The head nurse was hurrying over to assist, but Sirius waved her off, knowing it would only add to Remus’ embarrassment to have more people fussing over him.

“Fucking useless,” Remus muttered under his breath.

“What’s that now?” Sirius asked, crouching down so that he and Remus were at the same eye-level.

“This bloody leg doesn’t do anything I need it to,” Remus said angrily, sweeping a hand over his left calf. “The muscles are weak and it’s constantly sore, but gets worse after the moon.”

“Have you gone up to have Lily take a look?” Sirius inquired gently. “The lycanthropy ward isn’t just for serious injuries, you know. They hold a clinic after the full for tune-ups.”

“I’m sure she’s got plenty of more important things—” Remus began, but Sirius set a hand on his good knee and cut him off.

“No, she certainly does not,” Sirius told him, barely holding back his frustration. “You matter just as much as any other patient in this hospital, and you _deserve_ to be cared for when you need it.” He pointed towards Maggie Dalhousie, who had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had left her bedside. “Would you tell Ms. Dalhousie that she isn’t worth my care just because she’s going to turn into a wolf once a month?”

“Of course not,” Remus said stiffly, seeing exactly where Sirius was going with this.

“Then the same is true for you,” Sirius insisted. “You don’t have to like me, Remus, or be around me any more than our jobs require us to be, if that’s what you want. But please, please, _please,_ let me take you upstairs to see Healer Evans. She’ll have you sorted in no time.”

“It isn't,” Remus murmured, staring at his lap.

“Isn't what?” Sirius questioned, not following.

“It isn't what I want — to not be around you, I mean.”

“Oh. Well, er…” Sirius frowned, not quite sure what to say to that. “All right, then. We can talk about that later, when you’ve had that leg checked out. How’s that sound?”

“Fine," Remus sighed heavily. "But I won’t be able to walk all that way. My leg is shot.”

“That’s no problem,” Sirius assured him, standing up and patting the back of the chair. “How’s about I transfigure this into a wheelchair, and we take the lift?”

“I...suppose that could work,” Remus agreed. A coy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and a moment later he looked up to meet Sirius’ gaze. “Let’s see if you’re any good with that wand of yours, then.”

The obvious innuendo didn’t escape the healer, who felt himself flush all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Right,” he chuckled awkwardly, fumbling in the inner pocket of his robes for his wand. Waving it towards the bottom of the chair legs with a circular swish, he cast an emphatic _“Rotafors,"_ after which chair’s metal legs promptly split and curled into a set of wheels, larger at the back and smaller at the front, just like a manufactured wheelchair.

“Impressive,” Remus offered as he leaned over and inspected his new ride. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“It comes in handy every now and then,” Sirius said with a humble shrug. With another swish of his wand, a pair of handles sprouted from the back of the chair so he might save Remus the hassle of having to wheel himself along. “Shall we, then?”

Before Remus could respond, Sirius spun the chair around as quickly as it would go in the direction of the lift, drawing an alarmed squeak from its occupant. Nurses and patients alike watched with great amusement as the healer whisked his charge away at top-speed across the ward, ignoring Remus’ shouted, “Sirius, _slow down!_ because he was very confident in his steering abilities.

Healer Evans didn’t betray her own amusement when the pair arrived on the lycanthropy ward a few minutes later, in part because it was of no surprise to her to see Sirius engaging in such shenanigans (she had witness plenty of tomfoolery from him and James over the years), and also because a note from the head nurse down in Serious Bites had come up moments before the dynamic duo appeared, warning her of their impending arrival.

As Sirius had anticipated, Remus was ushered into a bed in quick order so that Healer Evans could have a look at his leg. To his disappointment, Sirius was not invited to consult — “Remus doesn’t show off his legs until at least the third date,” Evans informed him, earning a spluttered _“LILY!”_ from her newest patient — and so, Sirius stomped back down the stairs to his own ward, where he received a round of applause from his patients and staff for his earlier stunt with the wheelchair.

* * * * *

A note arrived for him later that morning in Remus’ neat record-keeper’s script:

~ ~ ~

_Hospital food is shite — please bring up something edible at your earliest convenience. I owe you a ‘thank you’ and an apology, and we need to finish our chat about Ms. Dalhousie. Let me know if and when you have the time._

_~ Remus_

_~ ~ ~_

Sirius didn't even have to think about it — he would make the time.

Anything for Remus.


End file.
